


Blowing Off Steam

by tatterwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Gratuitous Dean Shower Scene, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 12:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3610137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot of a little MoC!Dean getting some release in the bunker's shower after a long hunt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blowing Off Steam

Riding around for hours, sometimes days, on end with your kid brother really made a guy appreciate alone-time.

It was worse when neither of them had had any sort of chance to relax. And Dean wasn't talkin' shut-eye.

No, it was few and far between that either of them had any chance to get any sort of...release. Hell, they both probably could've scored at that bar in that town where they'd just wrapped up a salt 'n' burn. Probably.

Dean knew he could've easily.

One of the lady cops had practically been eye-fucking him at the crime scene. Which, you know, Dean had more than willingly reciprocated. She'd been hot, even underneath all that khaki and brimmed hat. That blocky holster at her hips hadn't hurt, either.

Thing was, with the Mark, Dean was hesitant to set foot on the love-'em-and-leave-'em track again. Sometimes, the smallest things had his skin crawling with the need for aggression, for violence. Yeah, he'd been doing better and shit, but was risking a roll in the sheets really worth it?

While parts of Dean said ' _hell yes_ ', the majority of him was unwilling to take the chance that he'd lose control. Yeah. Talk about a mood-killer.

So, Dean had taken to locking himself in his room, the bathroom, a hotel shower...Whatever, just for a little release.

Granted, he'd rather have a woman than his own damn hand. But, at least this way, no one but him was gonna get hurt if he got a little rough.

Dean was incredibly glad to be heading back to the bunker. It'd been days, hell, probably a week since he'd last had alone-time. Fuck, all he wanted to do was grab a hot shower, some food, and blow a little steam.

Gravel crunched beneath the wheels of the Impala as the car turned down the track that lead to the bunker's garage. After some driving through the dark entrance and the booming noise of the garage's door, Dean parked the car in her usual spot. The engine cut out with a final rumbling purr.

Sam uncurled himself from the passenger seat. His head knocked the roof. Dean shook his head with a tired grin.

"Hey, you want me to make you some soup or something?" Sam asked, ruffling a hand over his hair.

Dean thought a little. Food seemed to be on the back-burner right then. What he really wanted was a shower.

"Nah. Gonna shower an' hit the sack."

And there was that goddamned concerned look Sammy'd been so fond of these past few months. Dean was so sick of it. He wished Sam would stop worrying about him so much. God, what was gonna happen when Dean wasn't around anymore-

Dean shook his head sharply. He made the corners of his mouth quirk up.

"Aw, c'mon, Sammy. You could always call Cas for a dinner date."

"Shut up," Sam smiled a little. "I guess, if you're sure."

"I'm sure. G'night, Sammy."

Dean grabbed up his bag and tromped down the steps and into the hall. The lights lit the concrete hall with a faintly yellow-tinged glow. He should probably check out the light-bulbs and see if any of them needed changing or something.

He dumped his laundry into the bin before heading to his room. The place was just as he'd left it. The floor spotless, walls lined with guns and weapons. The desk peppered with old photos and research books and notes. The covers on the bed were uncreased, tucked neatly around the mattress.

Dean toed his boots and socks off, shucked off his over-shirt, and grabbed up a clean t-shirt and boxers.

The bathroom's tile floor was cold beneath his bare feet. The handles of the shower squeaked under his hands. Steam quickly filled the room.

Dean peeled off his jeans, the denim creased uncomfortably from hours on the road. Then, his shirt and boxers were folded on top of the counter and he stepped into the shower.

The hot water eased over his skin. It washed away all the noise in his head. It soothed him as he washed his hair and scrubbed the soap away.

The water pressure was absolutely fantastic as always. It pounded against his muscles and loosened him up until his eyes unerringly dropped to half-mast.

Of course, the water also felt like hot, slick hands that roamed over his back and front depending upon which way he faced. With his hands slicked with soap, he couldn't help but run his palms over the outsides of his thighs. Every touch had heat gathering in his blood. He could feel himself getting hard.

That didn't take very long, what with the drawn-out denial of the past week.

Dean's hands ran over his shoulders, muscles rotating beneath his palms. Then, he rubbed over his chest and stomach; eyes drifting shut as he imagined someone else's hands. A quick peek through water-spiked lashes confirmed his assumption. His cock was hard, flushed and glistening from water and the first hints of pre-come.

Dean shut his eyes and canted his head back into the spray. His hand pushed lower, lower. Until his fingers wrapped loosely around his cock. He squeezed briefly, exhaling sharply, before starting in with a slow, steady pace; base to tip. His thumb swept over the slit before he twisted his grip slightly and slid back down.

With an image rolling like a film reel in his head, Dean stifled a groan.

He trailed his free hand down his hip and beneath his working fist. When he cupped his balls and rolled them, he couldn't stop the wild, instinctive jerk of his hips. His hand kept working over his dick as his breathing started to speed up.

Soon, he drew his left hand away from his balls and planted it against the wall of the shower.

Water ran in rivulets down his chest and eased over his sensitized skin, only adding to the sensations that bombard him.

The only sounds were his increasingly ragged breathing, the water hitting tile and glass, and of slick skin rubbing over slick skin.

Dean's breath began to hitch. His head kicked back, water flinging from his short hair in every direction. His free hand clenched and unclenched against the shower wall.

_So good, so, so good._

His hand tightened around his cock. His strokes sped up. His hips bucked into his fist, bones and flesh banging into his forearm. His breath echoed off the wetted walls loudly.

_So close. So close. So close._

Orgasm started to build, the base of his spine tingling as his body shook. Dean shoved his face into the forearm he'd braced against the wall. Teeth met skin as he muffled a groan.

Then, with a louder, barely-stifled shout, he came.

His dick kicked in his grip as he jerked himself through it. His breaths stuttered as his body bucked and shuddered.

For a minute, he just leaned against the cold, wet wall as the water washed him clean. His breathing gradually returned to normal and he blinked the water out of his eyes.

The faucet squeaked as Dean turned the water off and reached for his towel. Goddamn, he didn't exactly feel like whistling on the way back to his room, but he certainly felt better than he had in weeks.

Blowing off steam had it's benefits, he guessed.


End file.
